


The Choice

by gluedwithgold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Arguing, Community: smpc, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Stanford Era (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 04:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18542602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gluedwithgold/pseuds/gluedwithgold
Summary: Sam has been accepted to Stanford, but that was easy compared to telling Dean.





	The Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sunday Morning Porn Club on LJ. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own, as I wrote this too late to ask anyone to beta read. It also took a few glasses of whiskey to write, so who knows if it's any good.

The door rattled in it’s frame as Dean’s fist pounded on it. Sam yanked his pillow out from under himself, wrapped it around his head and pressed it to his ears, trying to drown out the noise. It didn’t do much. 

“I swear to god, Sam, if you make me kick down this door I’m gonna beat your ass!” Bang bang bang. Sam rolled over onto his stomach and clenched his arms around the pillow and his head. Five more minutes. Just five more minutes and surely Dean would give up on this and go out, find a bar somewhere and leave Sam in peace. 

Sam hated this. He hated keeping things from Dean, and he’d had to keep this one thing from him for months now. He’d lied so many times when Dean asked ‘what’s up with you?’ because he couldn’t tell him yet. As soon as he told Dean, he’d have to tell Dad, or worse,  _ Dean  _ would tell Dad and Sam just wasn’t ready for that fight. Not yet. 

The acceptance letter from Stanford sat tucked inside his math textbook where it’d been since the day he got it. He’d only read it once. Accepted with a full scholarship for the fall semester. Sam had thought of telling Dean that day, he wanted to tell Dean. He always told Dean the good things – he always told Dean everything. It was on the tip of his tongue that night as they were getting ready for bed, but Sam stopped himself. This wasn’t getting an A on a test or winning a soccer game. Sam knew deep down Dean would be happy for him, but the repercussions of what he was doing would be what came to the surface – Sam was leaving hunting, leaving the family, and that wasn’t going to be okay with Dean. 

The banging stopped, and Sam heard the front door of the apartment slam closed, followed by the roar of the Impala’s engine starting up. It revved, then grew more distant until he couldn’t hear it anymore. Everything seemed to settle then, silence landing like early morning snow all around him. Sam let go of the pillow and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He drifted, falling into sleep, and a dream of normal life where there were no monsters and Dean came to visit Sam at college, happy and proud of his little brother. 

***

Sam jolted awake, his eyes flying open to see Dean’s right in front of his face, the green of them glowing with anger. Fuck. 

Then there was a field of white in his vision, a piece of paper, lines of black, a maroon logo in the top corner. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“You wanna explain this to me?” Dean’s voice was hard, controlled, that timbre he had when he was really, really angry – angry past yelling. 

Sam pulled himself up to sitting, narrowed his eyes and looked up at his brother. He didn’t say anything. Just a blink. 

“I’m serious, Sam. Start talking.” Dean flung the acceptance letter on the bed then dragged the desk chair over, sat down with his arms folded. Sam’s eyes darted to the desk behind Dean, all of his books and papers from his backpack strewn across the surface. Apparently since Sam wasn’t talking, Dean had decided to find out what he was hiding on his own. Sam turned his head and looked to the door – it was still intact, so Dean must have jimmied it. Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

“I’m going.” Sam’s voice was steady, calm, almost quiet. 

“And what about Dad? What about me?” Dean’s voice was getting louder. “You’re just going to leave us? Give up on everything we’ve been doing?” 

Sam opened his eyes and leveled his gaze at Dean, staring him directly in the eye. 

“It’s just college. Not like I’m going to disappear.” Sam folded his arms, mirroring his brother’s stance. “It’s what normal people do, Dean.” 

“Not us. That’s not what we’re about, Sam, it never has been.” Dean was calming down now, the anger fading from his voice as he settled into the idea of talking. 

“Well, it’s not what I want. It never has been, and I was never given a choice. I’m 18 next month, and I finally get to choose. And this is what I’m choosing. I don’t want to leave you, Dean, but I can’t do both. Dad made sure of that.” 

“So, what, you’re gonna go to college for four years and then come back to hunting? What’s the point? College isn’t going to teach you anything you can use, so why waste the time? We could take out a lot of evil in four years, Sam.” 

Sam sighed. This was the part he was dreading. He’d played this conversation in his head a million times and it always went badly. 

“I– I’m not coming back. To hunting.” Sam watched his brother’s face tighten, a fresh wave of anger spiraling around with a million questions and thoughts. “This isn’t the life I want, Dean.” 

The chair legs screeched as they slid across the floor, Dean pushing back from where he’d been sitting, standing and pacing in a tight circle in the middle of the room, his hand pulling at his hair. 

“You’re a selfish little shit, you know that Sam?” Dean had whipped around to face Sam again, his momentary calm turned back into yelling. “Dad is gonna rip you a new one when he finds out about this.” 

“Dean, please, don’t tell him. I’ll tell him, I promise – I know he’s going to be pissed, but please, just don’t tell him yet.” 

“And what are you planning? Tell him just before you leave and let him take it out on me? No, I don’t think so. I’m not taking this one for you. You’re telling him as soon as he gets back, or I will.” 

“Dean…”

“NO! This is bullshit, Sam. First, you tell me you’re leaving? For good? And then you want me to help you deal with Dad? Fuck that. You’re on your own. You wanna screw up this family, everything we’ve built, you’re dealing with the fallout, not me! I’m not gonna–” 

Dean’s tirade is cut off when his phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen, huffing and rolling his eyes as he flipped it open and brought it up to his ear. 

“Hey, Dad.” Dean glared at Sam as he listened, and Sam couldn’t help shrinking back from the look. “Yes sir. Okay. We’ll head out now.” 

Sam’s stomach sank as Dean closed the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. 

“We’ve got a case, get your stuff.” Dean grabbed his duffel as he walked out of the bedroom and headed into the bathroom to gather their things. Sam sighed, his stomach knotting up and his head starting to pound. He knew now was not the time to argue about hunting, so he just got up, grabbed his own duffel from the closet and started throwing clothes into it. 

***

“Sam? Sammy!” Dean’s voice filled Sam’s ears, the underwater sound of it fading as he came to. His whole body ached, and his head was throbbing. He opened his eyes a little, and saw his brother’s face, painted with concern, filling his field of vision. He registered the warmth of Dean’s hands on him last, one on his shoulder, the other cupping his neck. Sam blinked and reopened his eyes fully just in time to see Dean’s breath leaving him in a relieved sigh, his shoulders dropping as the tension left his body. “You with me?” 

Sam started to nod, but his head started spinning. “‘M okay.” 

“Shit, you scared me, Sammy. C’mon, let’s get you up.” 

Dean’s tone was soft now, a complete one-eighty from the tight, angry tone he’d had the whole two hour drive to the farmhouse. The case was a simple salt and burn, the ghost of kid who’d been buried in the dirt basement of the house. But the thing had been there for a long time, since the nineteenth century, and it was strong and pissed. It had dodged Dean’s swing of an iron bar just as Sam was lighting the match to torch the bones, and it went straight for Sam. It knocked him clear across the basement, right through a row of wooden shelves to the other side. Looking around, Sam figured he’d hit his head on the stone foundation that made up the far wall, since that’s where he was laying. His vision swam in fog as Dean’s hands pulled him up off the floor to standing – or leaning, really, since his legs felt like rubber underneath him. 

“Easy, kiddo… I got ya…” Dean soothed as he got an arm wrapped around Sam’s waist, holding him up as they started to make their way toward the staircase. 

“Did– did we get it?” Sam stuttered and swallowed, fighting against the gray static in his head to get the words out. 

“Yeah, we torched it. All good. Now c’mon, let’s get out of here and get you patched up, ‘kay?” Dean gripped Sam a little tighter as they reached the stairs, and all but dragged him up the flight and out of the house, getting him in the back seat of the Impala with no small amount of shoving. Once the familiar smell of leather and oil and  _ them  _ hit his nostrils, Sam felt himself let go, and he sank into darkness again. 

***

When he woke up again, Sam was back in his own bed, shivering. He was stripped down to his underwear, Dean sitting on the edge of the bed next to him holding an ice pack to the side of his head while he spoke into his phone in a low voice. Sam breathed in deep, pulling in the scent of damp clean, the familiar mix of soap and Dean. He could see the ends of Dean’s hair pasted to the nape of his neck. He’d showered while Sam slept. It was a comforting smell and Sam wanted to curl around his brother to keep it close. 

But then the argument they’d had rushed back to him and he stayed where he was. Even though Dean was taking care of him, he was probably still mad, and if Sam tried to get close his brother might push him away, and Sam wasn’t feeling strong enough to deal with that rejection at the moment. So he just lay there and breathed, filling himself with his brother’s scent while he listened to his conversation. 

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. He’s bruised up and probably has a concussion. Nothing I can’t deal with.” Dean paused, listening to the other end of the phone line. “Yes sir. I’ll take care of him.” 

Dean flipped his phone closed and dropped it on the bed next to his thigh. He looked down at Sam and saw him watching. 

“Heya, Sammy. How’s your head?” The corner of Dean’s mouth turned up slightly. 

Sam cleared his throat before trying to speak. 

“I’m fine. Got a headache, though.” Sam watched Dean nod. Dean pulled his hand with the ice pack away. Sam reached up without really thinking about it, and wrapped his hand around Dean’s wrist. “Dean, I’m sorry. Really. I really don’t want to leave you, okay? You believe me, right?” 

Dean pulled his hand out of Sam’s grip, and Sam started to panic until he felt Dean’s hand wrapping around his own, threading their fingers together. Dean smiled, small and soft. 

“I know, Sam. I believe you.” Dean squeezed Sam’s hand. “And I’m sorry I got so mad. You have every right to go to college. Of course you do. I’m just scared – scared of not being around to protect you, and… scared of not having you around. I can’t do this alone, Sam.” 

Dean’s eyes turned watery, the rims going red. 

“Yes, you can.” Sam tilted his head, a little confused at this admission from his usually overconfident big brother. 

“Yeah, well,” Dean looked down and sniffed once before continuing. “I don’t want to.” 

Dean looked back, and Sam smiled at him. Then Dean was leaning forward, lips pressing firmly against Sam’s. Sam gripped Dean’s biceps, tugging him close as their mouths moved together, lips parting and tongues tangling. All the tension drained from Sam, the pain, too, as his world narrowed, focus settling in to just this, him and Dean, the small space their two bodies occupied. 

Then Dean shifted, lowering his body and stretching out on top of Sam, weight pinning him to the bed, his fingers coming up to tangle in and gently tug at Sam’s hair. The weight of the world parted, leaving room for just this, them, and Sam let it, let go and felt the most right thing he’d ever felt. 

He could feel Dean’s cock, the hard line of it trapped in his jeans, pressing against his hip and Sam rolled his own hips upward, pressing and dragging and eliciting a breathy moan from Dean. Then Sam spread his legs, letting Dean drop between them, their dicks lining up and Dean gave a small thrust, pushing a moan from Sam. Dean’s hand slid down Sam’s side, past a hot, swollen bruise on his ribs to his thigh, then worked its way under the leg of his boxers, fingers finding the smooth, warm skin of Sam’s ass and gripping tight. 

They’d done this enough times over the past few years that it didn’t take much to get each other worked up, they both knew the right buttons and they’d already pushed them, so Dean was up off the bed and stripping out of his clothes while Sam was shucking his boxers and tossing them over the side of the bed. Dean opened the drawer of the nightstand between their beds, pulling out the bottle of lube then dropping himself back on top of Sam. 

They kissed again, frantic now, huffs of breath warm against their cheeks, hands sliding up and down bare skin, stopping to grip and pull before moving on. Their cocks were lined up and thrusting against each other, both of them angry hard and leaking precome, hips jolting forward when they hit certain sensitive spots. 

“Dean…” Sam breathed his brother’s name, begging into the curve of his neck when Dean moved his mouth to Sam’s neck, sucking and nipping the skin. Sam spread his legs wider, want coiling in his gut, needing to feel Dean inside him already. Dean knew, of course he knew, he always did, always knew just what Sam needed, and he was already squeezing lube onto his fingers, reaching down to coat his own cock, then spreading the remainder on Sam’s hole. 

Sam gasped when Dean’s index finger pushed inside him, warm and wet. He thrust forward, forcing the finger deeper, chasing it as Dean pulled out. Sam was about to let out a whine when Dean leaned forward, pressing the head of his dick against him. The sound turned quickly into a moan as Sam felt the pressure, Dean’s cock pushing in, his rim stretching and his body opening up to him. Dean pressed forward slowly, inching the full length of himself inside until their hips were pressed tight together. He stayed still for a few seconds, looking into Sam’s eyes as he brushed a stray lock of hair out of his face. 

It was Sam who started moving, rolling his hips up and back, urging Dean to start moving. And Dean did start, pulling his hips back slowly until just his head was left inside, then pushing forward, quick but controlled, their bodies slapping together again. A pause of just a second or two and Dean was pulling back again, thrusting forward a little harder, jolting Sam’s body against the mattress. His pace slowly quickened, his thrusts growing harder, the room filling with the slapping sound of their skin meeting again and again. 

Sam’s legs came up and wrapped around Dean’s waist, his arms tangling behind his neck, fingers nesting in the short hair there. His own cock was throbbing, jostling between their stomachs, leaking a small puddle that was spreading around with each thrust of Dean’s hips. Sam’s body started tingling all over, a radiating shiver each time Dean hit his prostate that was ratcheting up every sensation he was feeling. He reached down, smeared his hand through the puddle of precome on his stomach and wrapped his fingers around his cock, gripping tight and letting the motion of Dean fucking him push his dick through the ring of his hand. Dean was grunting and moaning in Sam’s ear now, his pace turning up to rabbit-fast, his angle perfectly nailing Sam’s prostate with every other thrust and Sam felt it building quickly, everything inside him tightening up, curling and coiling and he tried to hold on, hold back, but then Dean’s voice changed, that minute difference that meant he was close, and Sam let go, let the feeling spread out, release, unfurling like a spring jumping free and then his vision blurred, white spots swimming and he could feel his come coating his fingers, Dean’s thrusts helping to spread it down his shaft and ease the way his hand was sliding, intensifying everything that tiny bit more so he couldn’t help the shout that came out of him, the fingers of his left hand tightening around the base of Dean’s neck. And then Dean was shouting too, his thrusts turning jagged and erratic, then freezing. Sam opened his eyes in time to see Dean’s face tightening up, eyes squeezed closed as he came, his breath letting go in a burst as his hips started thrusting again, three, four more times before he slowed, and Sam could feel the warm slide of Dean’s come inside him, spreading around as Dean pushed in and out a few more times, slow and controlled as they both settled back into themselves, coming to rest fully seated inside Sam. 

Dean dropped his head, then lowered down to his elbows, breathing fast into the curve of Sam’s neck for a minute before lifting back up and kissing Sam, slow and soft, one hand coming up to cup his neck and chin. Then he pulled his softening dick free, gently, and lowered himself just to the side of Sam’s body, so he was laying half on top of Sam but not crushing him with his weight. And they stayed there, quiet, breathing, tangled together with their heat and sweat, the way Sam always felt they were meant to be. 

After they’d settled for a few minutes, Sam felt Dean pull on him, his arm tugging Sam closer. Dean was drifting, half asleep already, but checking one last time that Sam was there, that he was okay. It was the most familiar thing in the world to Sam. 

And Sam couldn’t help thinking it, even after everything they’d been through that day. How was he supposed to give this up? 


End file.
